


sometimes your heart is so quiet i don't even need to speak

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Control Issues, Coulson has intimacy issues, Dom/sub Play, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Kink Negotiation, Mild Kink, Older Man/Younger Woman, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Skye and her Huge Crush on Coulson, Skye has trust issues, Smut, Some light angst, Submission, they both talk too much during sex (and before sex and after sex)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When she proposed the plan for tonight a part of Coulson knew he was bound to extract as much pleasure from it as she was.</i> </p><p>(Some spoilers for 1x22 "Beginning of the End")</p>
            </blockquote>





	sometimes your heart is so quiet i don't even need to speak

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lisa Mitchell's "Valium".
> 
> First time writing this kink (or basically any kink maybe?) so yeah.

She asks him to remove his jacket and that seems harmless enough to begin with.

"Give me," Skye says, taking it from his hands.

Coulson is happy to see that she folds the piece of clothing and neatly places it in the back of one of the chairs; just because they are doing this it doesn't mean a perfectly good suit needs to be ruined. He suspects he might be going about this the wrong way.

Standing right here in the middle of the hotel room doing this seems awkward, the whole idea almost silly. For a moment he wants to tell her to forget all about it and just do what they usually do (as if there was such a thing as _usual_ with them). But Skye asked him, it was important enough for her to ask, and now she is sitting on the chair again and something is beginning to happen in her eyes as she watches Coulson wait for her to tell him what she needs.

"Now lose the tie," she says. His hand reaches a little too quickly and she clicks her tongue. "No. Slowly."

She means it, it doesn't sound ridiculous right off the bat and that has some effect on him, surprisingly. In fact she watches him undo the knot like it's the most erotic thing she's ever seen and Coulson is confused and more than a little intrigued. He goes slow, just as she told him, wanting to inspect that reaction.

"Cool," Skye says, appreciatively. Not the most suggestive of declarations, he knows, but yeah, okay.

He places the tie on the nightstand.

"Sit down," she tells him, softer this time, glancing at the bed. He does. "Shoes and socks?"

Coulson bends over, taking the chance to look at her from the corner of his eye. Skye looks tense – and that's a problem. The plan, the whole reason for this, was for her to enjoy herself, not to feel more responsible and stressed out. There's some excitement there, too, Coulson can tell (he knows how to tell), but he fears it will become diluted with how seriously she's taking this. This was meant to be fun for her.

He watches her slip her bracelets off her wrist and place them on the table. He has seen her make this gesture almost every night for the last couple of months. 

Skye walks up to him, very slowly, getting right up in his space, until he has to spread his legs so she can stand right between them, knees pressed to his thighs. The little sliver of contact gives Coulson a surprising thrill.

"Don't do that," she says.

"What?"

"That," she explains, touching his wrist, "the thing you do with your hands whenever you are uncomfortable or worried or have to deal with an emotion you are not in the mood for."

Coulson raises an accusing eyebrow, silently cursing her because she is not supposed to notice these things.

Her hands are on him the next moment so he lets go of his grumbling. She starts working the top button of his shirt, bending over him, her hot breath on his temple driving him progressively crazy, like she is standing too close.

He tries to reach his hands up to her waist but she pulls them away gently.

"Not yet," she says. "Hands on your sides, soldier."

As much as she talks like it's a joke this is not a joke. He realizes that's the whole point.

She continues undoing the buttons of his shirt, so slowly, one by one. Coulson feels the vertigo of the new; he doesn't think she's ever undressed him before, or that he has ever undressed her. They have helped undress each other, but _together_. They have never watched each other this closely. 

He wonders if they are the wrong people to be doing this (not just _this_ tonight, but this, all this); they are too guarded, too cautious in different ways. Skye might have thrown herself into this without much though about the dangers of their current, respective situations (and she did throw herself, getting past all of Coulson's alarms until it was too late and he still wonders how he came to be here) but he knows there are bits of her which are strictly contructed around the idea that she is going to be abandoned by everyone – and that includes him. Well, he's not kidding himself, he probably is on top of that particular list these days. The thing you need to know about Skye: she gives herself up easily, but never _completely_.

"Stop thinking," she tells him. Only when he hears the words thrown back at him he realizes how many times he has played this role, trying to get her out of her own head. "You have to do what I say, so you have to stop thinking now."

He nods.

She is slipping his shirt off his shoulders, languidly, which he guesses is kind of the point. The look of concentration on her face misses the mark of sexy but it's actually quite endearing.

"You've never done this. Have you?" he asks.

"I'm improvising, shut up," she says.

He chuckles and Skye just smiles at him, and it's a good thing.

But then the humor is gone and she narrows her eyes, staring at Coulson as if memorizing every second. Then she is just standing there, looking at him, and _hesitating_ ; like she wants to do so much to him that she doesn't know how to start making a decision. The thought is too overwhelming and for a moment Coulson regrets having ever agreed to do this.

It's not that he is a prude or that there is a lack of adventurous women in his past, quite the contrary, but, and he doesn't know if this has to do with her age, Skye has an intensity to her that unsettles him and at the same time pulls him towards her. He wants that intensity just as much as he doesn't.

 

+

 

_He doesn't know exactly when he discovered he enjoyed taking orders from her so much._

_In a sense he suspects it goes back to that time when Skye officially became a SHIELD agent, when they were pursuing the Clairvoyant, and that exploit of hers that would eventually lead them to Thomas Nash. She was running the show, completely and confidently, and Coulson wasn't just in awe of her capacity to come up with a brilliant plan, he was _enjoying_ being the enforcer of her ideas. He thought he wouldn't mind if their roles were reversed for good; if Skye was his leader and he the faithful footsoldier at her command. _

_He didn't make the connection between that and sex until very recently._

_Until a week or so ago, when they were in her room, and Coulson was going down on her, mouth and fingers and slow and patient as he likes it. They both had had a particularly trying day on the field but then again what day of theirs wasn't trying?_

_Skye would normally give him a hint of what she wants with a well-timed yank of fingers on his hair, or the way she moved her hips under his touch, but this time it was just words._

_"Stop," she said, voice steadier than he expected. "Give me a moment."_

_She was so close and for some reason she didn't want to. It would be so easy, Coulson thought back then, selfishly, just another lick, just another sudden movement of his wrist and there was nothing he wanted more than to feel her writhe around his tongue, to give her the release he knew she was striving for. There was nothing he wanted more than to do just that and yet. **And yet** he stopped, he kept very still and quiet, just listening for her voice._

_Her body raised and fell with long, heavy breaths next to his mouth but he did not move. She told him to stop and he stopped, and the thrill it gave him then, to know she could command something of him in this situation, was somewhat unexpected but very, very unsurprising. He had to stop himself from moaning, the idea of Skye giving him an undebatable order in bed going straight to his cock._

_He didn't mention it to her, afterwards, forgot about it himself, but he guesses it had been waiting there, in the back of his mind, because when she proposed the plan for tonight (and he can't really believe the timing was mere coincidence) part of Coulson knew he was bound to extract as much pleasure from it as she was._

 

+

 

He understands why she needs this, now, right-fucking-now, though.

She hasn't said anything, he is not even sure Skye realizes she's doing it, but with the recent discoveries about her origin, vague as they are, it's natural she feels a lack of control over her own life, a lack of control over what she thinks and feels, over her body. If she can have this at least, if she can control this, control him, use him as proxy, Coulson is more than willing to offer up whatever is required. Because his words haven't been enough so far, nothing he's said has been useful in convincing Skye she is human enough these days, no combination of words even getting close to do the trick. He just wants to give her _something_.

When they started this – whatever this is, whatever spark of love and connection their fight against gods and monsters allows them, now that they can maybe count themselves among the gods and monsters – he had not expected to be in so deep so soon. In a way he knows he shouldn't allow himself to, now least of all. But Skye knows exactly how broken he is, she knows the very real danger of everything he is falling apart in a moment, and she doesn't seem to mind. And anyway it's not like Coulson _chose_ to fall for her.

Even now, Skye smiling at him and combing her fingers through his hair, he feels in over his head, mostly.

"I want to kiss you," he says. Meaning: I want you to kiss me.

She pulls at his hair gently, pushing his head back like she is about to bring her mouth to his. But she doesn't. Why doesn't she?

"Mmm, you do look like you are in need of a good kissing. But I'm not sure you've earned it yet."

She is trying, she's really trying; to be in control, to sound sexy and calm, maybe trying to be someone else. And part of it is working on him, despite knowing better, despite knowing her better. Part of it is working just fine because he is already half-hard and straining painfully against too many layers of clothes.

He squirms, fists bunched to keep himself from moving his hands up to her face, her hair. _Her hair_. Has he ever realized before how much he likes running his fingers through her hair? It's possible he hasn't, not until now.

Skye gestures for him to take off his undershirt.

He tugs at his collar with a sigh, a bit disappointed at himself for how quickly he has followed her command. It's not that he is anxious to be naked in front of her when all she has discarded are her bracelets but he thinks this might speed things up.

It doesn't. Skye just stays there for while, looking at him inquisitively. Coulson can feel her gaze following the line of his scar and though it doesn't bother him as much as it used to he still wonders what she is thinking when she's looking at him. 

Then she is no longer just looking at him. Her hands move along his neck, along the curve of his shoulders. Running her fingers up and down his arms Skye opens her lips ever so slightly, drawing a breath as she presses her thumbs into muscles defined by too many decades of loyal training. He half expects her to make a joke about how much he works out (wouldn't be the first time) but she doesn't and her touch goes from appreciative to a caress in a moment.

She leans into him, fingertips leaving a trail of pleasant pressure along his forearms until she wraps her hands around his wrists. She touches her lips to his ear, eyelids tickling him, and she is letting out little noises of contentment. Suddenly he is very aware of her body, even more than usual, of her breasts brushing against his shoulder, the unironed denim almost rough on his bare skin. She is so solid right in this moment, so close, and Coulson has to shift in his seat a bit, perhaps disobeying her wishes but _he has to_.

"You look like you're uncomfortable," she says.

He glances down at his obvious arousal.

"You want me to do something about it?" she asks.

He groans.

Skye has never lacked directness but it still surprises him when she grabs his cock through his pants and gives it a hard squeeze. The tiny moment of relief leaves him dizzy but he can't wait for the next touch of her hand. It never comes. She takes her fingers away and Coulson bites down a moan before it makes it out of his mouth.

He feels more unsatisfied now than before she touched him.

"More," he pleads with her. He doesn't quite recognize his voice.

"No, that was it," she says firmly.

"I thought this was sex, not torture."

Skye's glance softens, clouded by naive concern, taking his complain seriously. She's so careful. Coulson has to remind himself sometimes that she is, mostly and despite appearances and record, just a really sweet young woman.

"Do you want to stop?" she asks, and he can feel her already backing down, pulling back. "Because we don't have to do this. It was just–"

He smiles. "No, I'm fine. Keep going."

"Okay." She gives him a tiny nod of encouragement.

"Okay."

He's already breathless.

She holds his head between her hands and bends down to place a kiss on top of his head, then another on his forehead. Coulson feels a shiver down his spine. This is not sexy or arousing, just comforting and really, really nice. Like a wordless promise from her, telling him she'll take care of him and protect him no matter what. Coulson likes that idea a bit too much. 

 

+

 

_Then two weeks ago, when they were in his bedroom and Coulson, in a fevered post-sex state that still required to keep her as close to him as possible, was pondering how his bedsheets had started to smell of her even after he'd washed them, that's when Skye first spoke about what was happening to her, first spoke using her usual film of humor to cover the fact that she was trying to have a serious chat._

_"I get what they are saying," she said. **They** meaning a Grant Ward on the loose, meaning Raina, meaning the real, true Clairvoyant they didn't even know existed until days before. "When they said I was a monster. It made sense to me. People don't know the rage that's inside."_

_Her voice sounded like she was speaking about someone else._

_"I know," he told her. Because he did – even if that rage was buried so deep that people forgot they should never confuse Skye's sunny disposition for meekness. And he accepted it and never questioned its necessity: he hadn't had a life half as hard as Skye's and he walked around angry most days._

_"Yeah, you know," she said, pressing her hand to his chest. They had never talked about this, not this specifically. "You're also secretly an angry person. We have that in common."_

_Truth be told that had contributed to their current situation, and their current position on Coulson's bed and into each other's arms. He had, after all, been angry the first time he kissed her (and then regretted it and rejected her for days) in his office after a mission – a mission he had stubbornly conducted in a conservative way to save face, a mission in which Skye had decided to disobey those orders she knew were wrong, putting herself in danger in the process. Up to this day, up to this moment here in his bed, with Skye curled up against his heartbeat, Coulson couldn't know what had made him snap that first time: the fact that she could have been hurt, the fact that she went against his orders, or the fact that she had been right to do so._

_"What a pair we make," Skye was saying now, running her fingers through the short hair on the back of his neck. "You keep doing weird scary stuff in your sleep and I'm like something from another world that might destroy everyone."_

_"Don't forget we might also come with an expiration date," he pointed out._

_"No, let's not forget that," she laughed into his neck. "Sir, looks like we are in deep shit."_

_His fingers darted across her forehead. He knew Skye never stayed down for long. And she didn't really need his help to get back up._

_"Well. You know how this goes, it's okay. At least we're in deep shit together," he told her._

_She looked up at him, wide-eyed and joyful to just be there. With him._

_"Thank you," she said, bringing her mouth to his._

_He smiled against her touch._

_They might be damaged, angry people, true, he thought, but boy were they hopeful. Coulson never knew he could be this hopeful._

 

+

 

He needs things to start moving faster, and he needs that now. He needs for Skye to stop touching him like that – gingerly, ghost touches – and start touching him for real. He needs to get out of the rest of his clothes. And he needs her to start undressing too. Above all he needs her to let him _touch her_.

But this is not about what he needs.

His fingers curl painfully around the sides of the chair.

"Come on, Skye." 

Not really sure what he's asking for here.

"Are you begging?" she inquires. She seems to be trying to hide her delight at the idea but it's written all over her face – this, of course, only aggravates everything.

"I..."

She tilts her head. 

"Wait a moment, wait a moment. Is the mighty Director of SHIELD begging this poor little agent who never made it past Level 1?"

"Now you are just being cruel, you know," he says bitterly, but this time Skye doesn't mistake his arousal for doubt.

She lowers her voice: "You know that's not how the line goes, Phil."

He always likes the way she decides to change from "Coulson" to "Phil"; like his first name is something she's earned with great effort so she doesn't want to waste it. They haven't completely made the transition yet, he is not _Phil_ all the time to Skye, not even when they are sleeping together, just on particular moments.

But now he is Phil, not Coulson, not Agent, not the director of anything, he's just a man and he is in her hands and he wants her so fucking much it hurts not to tell her.

"Skye. _Please_."

She nods and raises her palms to his shoulders, pushing him against the mattress. Her fingertips pressing down on his bare skin feel a bit too amazing, since basically it's the only kind of contact he's allowed right now, so they have to. He braces his hands on either side of him, open-palmed, as he guesses Skye wants him to.

The nondescript of the hotel room, now that he is looking at the ceiling, helps Coulson feel a little less overwhelmed by it all. He wants tonight to last, and he can't do that (he can't give Skye what she needs), unless he slows himself down. This is good, he tells himself, just keep looking at the pale orange wallpaper, don't let her know deep down you're just a ridiculous fifty year old.

But then Skye climbs in with him, straddling his lap in one swift movement. His hips buck up against his will but this time she doesn't disagree with it, for a gorgeous moment she lets him brush his hard-on against her jeans, once, twice, before she slides further up, knees digging into the bed, until she's practically sitting on his stomach, but not forcing her whole weight on him.

When she bends over to kiss him quickly the hem of her shirt tickles against his bare stomach.

His hands move up, seemingly of their own volition, to grab at her hips like they've done many times before but Skye is watching him carefully, a curious gaze to see what he does, and Coulson stops himself just shy of touching her, clenching his fingers and bringing them back down on the matress. She rewards him with a grin.

He never imagined it would be like this; he thought it was going to be something simpler, quicker. Something a lot more direct, like asking him to get on his knees and between her legs. To be fair, Coulson is not sure what he was expecting when he said _yes_ without much thought. But this was not it.

Skye looks down at his body, eyes clouded with desire.

"I can do whatever I want?" she says, words coming out in a struggle, like she hates to be asking.

"Whatever you want."

 

+

 

_"Can we do that?" Skye had asked, after he had already scheduled a break for the team. "For a bit. We can do whatever you like afterwards, I swear. Quid pro quo, I think? We have the room for the whole night, right?"_

_"Skye, I'm just not sure what you are asking."_

_"Nothing gross," she was quick to make that clear. "Don't worry, I wouldn't – nothing you don't want to do, obviously. I'm sorry, I'm not explaining myself very well."_

_He run his fingers across the soft skin of her shoulder. It wasn't that often that Skye was this vocal about what she wanted in bed. She wasn't shy, and she often made herself clear on how things were progressing. But, pretty much like him, it wasn't often that she actually **asked** for things. Coulson wondered why that would surprise him, seeing as that was the way Skye was in every other aspect of her life – someone not used to asking. In case of being refused something she might really want, he could only guess. He noticed how sex with Skye was pretty much like everything else with Skye._

_"You're asking me to do whatever you want for a night," he said._

_"I guess that sums it up."_

_He thought about it for about half a second. "I can do that."_

 

+

 

He moves his mouth under hers and Skye pulls away.

"No. Don't kiss me back. Just stay still and let me kiss you."

She has her arm tucked under her head and Coulson has to turn his to one side to give her full access. 

She kisses him for... he loses track of the time, to be honest, but he knows it's _too long_. She's basically testing him now, not teasing him but making sure he is going to do what he said he would. She explores his mouth patiently and methodically, the lazy swipe of her tongue, her teeth nipping every now and then; it's too different from how she normally is – Coulson finds himself remembering the first time _she_ kissed him, again in his office, with an almost vicious grip on his arm and kissing him like it might be her only chance. And every kiss after that one, as if there wasn't time enough for her.

Maybe this is an excuse for her to try something new.

At some point Skye undoes the buttons of her jeans with one expert hand and shoves them down until she finds it easy to kick them off and to the floor. She doesn't stop kissing him while she does this. He has to admire her concentration – he's not surprised by it, because he has watched her hack into the hardest security systems in the world while the five other people in the room were arguing loudly and vehemently around her. His half-closed eyes can't help but register the new, happy development, though, those naked legs Coulson loves so much.

"No," she says, ambiguous. "I get to look at you."

He doesn't know what she means or why she would want to but he nods, waiting for her next move. Her next move is she just kisses him for a while longer until he feels sore and so frustrated he has to close his eyes completely. That's worse because now what he feels is not her mouth, her teeth and tongue taunting him, but the way her fingernails rake on his shoulder and chest and Coulson just thinks about her hands, _her hands_ , small and fast and capable and he thinks about her usual clear nail polish and that morning he was in her room for no good reason, just sitting on her bed talking to her while she painted her nails and he doesn't know why he is remembering this now but it's only making things worse and he hasn't realized Skye has stopped kissing him already.

He opens his eyes.

"Okay?" she asks, checking with him.

He just has to nod and she relaxes over him.

She sits up, her hands flat on his hips, and the pressure of her weight on his groin is almost preferable to the maddening patience of her kissing. She has a funny expression on her face, Coulson is not sure what is supposed to happen next.

Then her hand moves up from his stomach to his chest and – 

She traces the outline of his scar with one tip of her fingers, very carefully but very intently.

She hasn't done this before, ever.

Perhaps she had wanted to but never knew how to go about it. Perhaps that's the big idea behind tonight, that Skye feels free to do things she wouldn't normally even think to ask permission for. He's glad they're doing this.

She bites her lower lip as she touches the scarred strip of skin, her hips clenching around his waist seemingly on instinct. Coulson can feel it in her weight, and the way her breathing changes, she's turned on by what she's doing to him right now and he should find it messed up but he sort of understands it. It's not his past pain and shame she enjoys, it's the fact that he's letting her see him now, touch him, when he hasn't before, not really. He draws a deep breath so that his chest rises, pressing up against her palm. 

She leans over again, her long hair spilling over his frame, but she doesn't kiss his scar like he guessed (perhaps she imagined that's a step too far without explicit permission); she presses her mouth against the hollow of his neck and starts sucking on the spot, and then she runs her teeth across the tender skin left behind.

"Oh, shit," he hears himself say. Skye lifts her head to look at him. "What? I can't talk either?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. No, okay, you can talk."

"Thank you."

Insubordinate, he's being insubordinate. He is losing control and fast and it's too late to realize he doesn't like the idea – surprise there, he tells himself, Mr Tailored Suits doesn't like not being in control.

She moves over, brushing her lips across his mouth for the briefest moment.

She leaves a trail of kisses all over his neck, his collarbone, his chest. 

His whole body feels stretched under her touch, about to snap, like there's too much of him and not enough of what contains him. She does that. Not just here. Not just in bed. Every day. Ever since he first met her and could never in a million years imagine this is where it was all leading, to this hotel room, to her mouth closing over his nipple, to being so utterly and surprisingly in love he almost wants to regret it.

She leans back and away, swings her leg over his, pressing her knee in between. Coulson doesn't know whether to be thankful or annoyed at the touch. His body slides on the bed slightly, trying to push down against her. She withdraws it immediately, that knee between his thighs and that sweet pressure, and she pulls back from him, adjusting herself until she is straining his lap once more. Yeah, that's not helping him, all this back and forth, the little subtle changes in her position – above all her freedom to move around him when he remains rooted to the spot by her explicit desire. 

"Stay still. You're very good at staying still."

"SHIELD training," he replies.

"Of course." She grins. Then her voice turns darker: "But I meant it, _stay still_."

His posture stiffens, not knowing any other way to obey that order right now. It turns out that she is not so bad at this, or maybe he's just losing his mind, which is entirely possible. But he thought Skye didn't have it in her, to keep it up so long, this game that doesn't feel like a game at all.

She finally takes off her shirt, he was half expecting she'd leave it on for the duration. He likes the picture in front of him, her girlish pale red underwear against dark skin, but he's exasperated by the idea that he can't touch, he can't draw his arms up against that body. Skye is looking at him like she knows exactly what he is thinking; she adjusts one of the straps of her bra in a not-really-casual gesture.

"You like this," he comments, glad his voice sounds whole because he doesn't feel whole.

"Because you do, too," she replies. He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah I _noticed_."

He has been pretending he's doing this because she asked, not because he wants it too.

Maybe he needed something like this, too, okay, that might be it. He doesn feel _right_ these days, and Skye knows that. None of the team have been able to figure out what is wrong with him, exactly, and there's a reason why he has been extra careful around Skye these days, and maybe this is her way of telling him he doesn't have to, that she can take whatever is going to come at them, and that Coulson is, literally and metaphorically, in good hands.

As if to prove a point she grinds down against him, rolling her hips, rubbing against him for her own purposes. This time Coulson is not quick or strong-willed enough to stop the moan ripping free from his throat. It's almost worth the humilliation to see the smug smirk on Skye's face.

"Have you ever done something like this?" she asks him, still pressing down on him.

"Skye."

"Come on, Coulson. I'm not an idiot. You have experience. You look like you have experience. Have you ever done something like this?"

"Not exactly like this but..."

He's been tied up and handcuffed – which is a lot easier than using only his willpower, twisting his hands into the bedsheets until his fingers hurt and being consumed by a sharp-teeth hunger for this girl. 

He notices her gaze dropping, her expression falling a bit.

"You asked," he points out, which is not fair, he knows, but goddamn her she did ask.

"No, it's okay, don't worry, I'm not jealous or anything. It's not that I haven't done stuff. I've done a lot of stuff, you know that. It's just that..."

"Skye," he calls out, surprising himself with the fondness in his tone. "Don't tell me... Are you realizing I'm old just now?"

She puts her hands against his chest, like she's looking for balance.

"No," she tells him. "And you're not old. But you are... I don't know. I feel like I'm too far behind, sometimes. You must have been in this situation a lot of times. I don't mean this situation tonight, I mean _this situation_ with us. And I've never... not like this... God I'm sorry. I'm totally ruining the mood."

"You're not ruining anything. I told you we'd do whatever you wanted. If you want to talk about this..."

He wants to touch her; he wants to reach his hand and caress her face, he wants to hold her in his arms and comfort whatever doubts she might be having, tell her that when he is being honest with himself he realizes that no, he's never been in this situation before, they're on equal ground here. He wants to sit up and grab her by the neck and kiss her. But he also wants to let her know that she can trust him not to move until she tells him to. 

Skye shakes her head, going for solemn. "No, I don't want to talk."

She leans over and kisses him. It's hard and deep and this time she doesn't mind that he is reciprocating, kissing back. She needs him to, of that he is sure. Her hand reaches down to his groin, palming his erection like she is trying to check something and Coulson could just – just, to hell with this sudden attack of insecurity. Okay, he decides, biting on Skye's lower lip until she whimpers, if that's what she needs, and he arches up his body against her hand. 

For a moment Coulson thinks this is it, the game is over, and they are going to go back to just getting lost in each other the way they always do, no attempts at any illusion of control here, but then Skye puts her hand away, and slows down the kiss. It's not like any option is really safe but at least one of them he has tried before.

"I guess you'll have to show me what you have learned, all that experience of yours..." she tells him, her voice husky and playful and this time she doesn't miss the mark of sexy, not at all and Coulson moans pathetically against her mouth.

That's when he realizes that she hasn't asked anything for herself tonight. She has asked to see him and touch him and kiss him into madness. She has not asked him to pleasure her in any way.

She climbs out of bed and takes her underwear off, unceremoniously.

She's too quick and he would have wanted to take a good look at her, standing in the middle of the room, naked and with that decided expression on her face Coulson knows only too well.

When she climbs on top of him again, straddling him, Coulson can feel how wet she is against his stomach – she probably just did that on purpose, just to let him know. His fingers twitch, aching to be buried in her, to give give give. He thinks it's much worse because he knows what it would be like, because they've done this long enough that she's beginning to feel frighteningly familiar; it's much harder to keep himself from moving now he already knows what her breasts will feel like under his gun-calloused hands, firm and unfair, her youthfulness somehow goading him. It takes an extra effort because he knows the softness of her thighs pressed up against the palms of his hands, because he's tangled his hand in her hair enough times that the gesture is already private language between them. If he didn't know, if they didn't know each other, if this was the first time, it wouldn't be so excruciatingly difficult to keep still and not grab her and explore every inch of her, familiar and unfamiliar. Skye lets out a tiny sigh when bare skin meets bare skin and Coulson wishes she would have let him undress completely.

"Lie back," she tells him.

He pushes his head back into the pillow immediately.

She slides up the bed to the top and Coulson knows what she means, pulse racing in anticipation. She plants herself on either side of his head and just his hot breath on her nakedness is already making her tremble. Well, it is making _him_ tremble and he uses the fact that Skye seems to be distracted positioning herself above him to squirm against the mattress, angling his hips to get a bit of needed friction against his own clothes.

Her fingers reach down to yank at Coulson's hair, to steady him or guide him or whatever she wants to do with him, he doesn't care. She spreads her knees further together.

"Fuck," she says, curling her fingers tightly around the headboard as Coulson first moves his tongue. 

He can feel her shuddering and for the first time tonight she is not completely in control, little throaty, needy sounds raising from her. About time; Coulson knew that when she asked him to do this she wanted him to obey her orders as much as she wanted to feel comfortable enough to give up the game at some point. He wonders if that moment is now.

Then she starts rocking her hips, slowly, almost like she is still teasing him, pulling back every time he is about to settle against her. He doesn't move an inch, he's pushing the back of his head against the pillow to keep still until the fingernails raking at his scalp tell him otherwise. When she rocks back he can see her face, eyes squeezed close and an expression of utter trust. That gets to him more than the fact that she is fucking herself on his face and he is completely done for, and completely undone, by her.

And then she is bearing down on him a bit too much, a bit too lost in the sensation. He appreciates her, well, appreciation of his skills, but still. He'd rather not have to use his hands to grab her hips and get her off him for a moment, he'd rather not have to break his promise just because she's almost smothering him.

Coulson manages to twist his neck to extricate himself from between her thighs long enough to say:

"Skye, Skye, _air_."

"Oh, hell, I'm so sorry." She lifts her hips. She looks worried. "Slower?"

"Your show. Just. Try not to asphyxiate me, if you can."

She rolls her eyes.

It's not his fault, it's actually funny, Skye can't deny that. Coulson looks up at her, from under her, knees each side of his head, with what he imagines must be a really stupid grin. They are so inexplicably bad at this. 

"Can I use my hands?" he asks, for the purpose of checking how they're doing, not because he thinks she's going to let him.

Skye shakes her head. "Stay still."

Good, he thinks, curling his fingers into the sheets, wanting so bad to snake one arm up her back, feel the sweat tricking down her spine. _Good_ , because he doesn't do that.

She's more careful with how she brings her body to his lips now, her knees bearing most of the weight, letting Coulson move more freely under her, letting him be more patient with it. Her hand comes down to tug at his hair, not too much but increasingly so as she rides his mouth into her orgasm. It's easy – it's always easy with them, Skye wants him so much, and that always surprises him, but it's always true, it's true every time. Tonight is different in many ways but not in that. And when she comes she comes quietly. She does that, don't think he hasn't noticed it. He has noticed it over and over. In general she is somewhat quiet in bed, and something about it bothers Coulson, he doesn't know if it has anything to do with him. He has never made her cry out with pleasure and though he doesn't need any ego trip (he is doing just fine in the ego department, thank you, at least when it comes to sex) he thinks he would like to do that, extract from her something more than a gasp or some whispered swear words.

Afterwards (she actually lets him move around a bit so he can catch his breath and clean up a bit) she lies next to him, one lazy arm slung over his heart.

He worries she is going to fall asleep on him or something and leave him like this.

"Now can I...?"

"Wait," she tells him.

"Skye."

That seems to shake her out of it. She props herself on one elbow, looking at him very seriously.

"No, wait," she repeats, moving her hand to scrape her fingernails across his chest. But her touch is not playful anymore, it's just tender, very warm. Her mouth moves closer to his ear as she tells him in a private voice: "I'm not being selfish. I don't think I am, at least. I know how much you don't like feeling... _exposed_ , and I get it, but I think I can make you feel good, if you trust me. Do you trust me, Phil?"

Coulson can only let out a small whimper that has nothing to do with the painful throbbing of his cock. Does he trust this woman? So much it terrifies him. So much he knows he will never have the words to tell her properly.

"Skye," he calls out again, which is a yes, which is all the words, all the nouns and verbs he needs in his vocabulary right now. But she understand him just the same.

"You have to give up. Give up."

He knows exactly what she's talking about. "I give up."

Knots of muscle on his back and shoulders loosen when he promises her this. Skye slides one hand down his body. Not more of this, he thinks, helpless, when her fingers pause to play with the strip of hair below his navel. Begging was bad enough, now Coulson calculates the chances she'll kick him out of her bed forever if he starts weeping.

His breathing gets rougher and rougher.

Her fingers slip under the waistband of his pants and under his boxers. Coulson thinks this is it, finally, when her fingertips find hot, painfully willing flesh and his heart hurts against his ribs.

Then she seems to think better of it, because she takes that hand away.

"Damnit, Skye," he hisses.

She might be smiling a bit at that. 

"It's okay, it's okay," she says soothingly. "I've got you."

She's gone back to drawing lazy circles over his stomach and that seems to calm him down a bit; she keeps an even rhythm until he begins breathing deeper and calmer, matching her movements. She presses herself against his side, her nose brushing against Coulson's cheek.

"Ask me again," she tells him quietly.

 _Ask_? He's ready to fucking beg again.

"Can I?"

She stares at him and for a moment Coulson is sure she's going to say no again and he is ready to scream at her, get up and walk out of here if she does. No, he won't, he knows he won't do that. But it's a good thing she doesn't try to push it. She nods and he feels more relieved than if he had actually already come.

"Yeah... Here," she grabs him by the shoulder, making him turn on his side until they are face to face on the pillow. "Let me watch you."

His mouth goes dry.

"What?"

"Let me watch you," she repeats, brushing her thumb against his cheek. "Unbuckle your belt."

She is keeping up the game beyond the point of Coulson's endurance, she has to know that. She's keeping it up beyond the point of his sanity and he _adores_ her. This time his hands are shaking when he does what she wants and he completes the task with some difficulty.

"Shove your pants and underwear down, but just a bit." He complies without a sound. Her gaze is pitiless. "A bit lower."

God help him he does.

"Perfect," she says, cheerful, pressing her mouth to his neck, sucking, and Coulson doesn't know if this is a his reward or more torture. Or both. Something he thought very essential in himself is quickly slipping through his hands.

She looks down, at him, and he can see desire flare in her eyes.

"Now... mmm... you know," she gestures.

Coulson doesn't need to be told twice: he reaches down and wraps his hand around his cock. He squeezes so hard, he's so rough it's painful. It doesn't matter, it's a lot less painful than what she's doing to him. A lot less satisfying, though. But it will have to do.

"Slower..."

It takes more effort than it's humanly possible to heed that order of hers and yet Coulson finds himself doing exactly that. It no longer surprises him.

"Anything else?" he grunts sarcastically. He can hardly believe she's giving him instructions on how to jerk himself off. He can hardly believe he's considering it. He can hardly believe this whole evening and the power she holds over him. She's twenty-five for fuck's sake.

"Yeah. Rub your thumb over the head of your dick," she replies, definatly, just to throw it back at him.

 _Fucking hell_ , he's pretty sure he is going to come just to the sound of those words. He's going to need to cover his reaction. He still has some pride. Not much left, that is true, but a bit.

"Skye, I'm scandalized," he jokes.

She smirks. It's gorgeous. "Oh I'm sure you are."

Inexplicably he actually does brush his thumb across the tip, and that startles a laugh out of Skye. He feels her hot, wet breath against the hollow of his neck and his skin suddenly remembers the shape of her mouth, the bite of her teeth.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, already moving over to her side to do so.

Skye pulls away. "No. Just let me watch you. I want to."

He swallows, her gaze making him uncomfortable. Like she is going to find him out. Which is stupid, she's already found him out, a long time ago. He makes a needy-sounding noise directly torn out of his throat, because _god, that gaze_ , how can he ever hope to stand it on him. She looks like she is going to swallow him alive. 

He moves his fingers along his length leisurely as instructed, even though he realizes Skye is looking at his eyes right now, and not his cock.

"Skye, can I...?"

"You're so beautiful," she tells him all of the sudden, cutting him off, touching her fingers against his forearm so lightly, and Coulson stops at that, stunned. Has he ever told her she is beautiful? This is fucked-up, he knows, but he doesn't think he has. It makes him feel like a dick, no pun intended. He hasn't even told her he loves her yet.

He looks up at her with what he imagines is an utterly hopeless expression. Whatever it is it wins him a smile from Skye, a little sad smile that makes her look older than she is.

"Come closer," she tells him and his body is already moving into her embrace before she even finishes the sentence.

Then she is holding him in her arms and Coulson lets out a sigh of relief. He can feel her whole body pressed against his, naked and warm and Skye and _finally_. Tonight has been all bits and pieces and he has missed her in her entirety. And he can smell her, the shampoo she normally uses to make her hair look _like that_ mixed with the scent of her sweat and her arousal. He lets himself be held, still touching himself shallowly, but not daring to hold her back, not daring to initiate anything else because she hasn't told him so.

"You can touch me," she says, as if reading his mind.

He changes hands to wrap his right arm around Skye's shoulder, digging his fingers into her skin, touching the fever-hot spot at the base of her neck. Again he feels about to be overwhelmed by emotion, but he doesn't know if he can pull back this time. His hand darts along her spine, settling against her ribcage and he watches himself touching her, thumbing the grooves between ribs, feeling the taut skin. He grabs her breast gently, forgetting about his own pressing needs, having been so starved of this the whole night.

She throws her leg over his hip. The heat and dampness from her inner thigh brushing against him are almost enough to push him over the edge. Push him over the edge, yeah, he thinks in broken thoughts, for once the stupid euphemism is well chosen.

He shuts his eyes closed, bucking and thrashing under her firm hold.

"Coulson..." she calls out. He opens his eyes, her face is so close, she is so... yeah, _beautiful_ , yes, she is, he's such a fool for not saying anything. "Coulson. Are you still okay with this?"

Even though she should probably know how much he is liking this (she knows him by now, intimately, his reactions, his rhythms, the noises he makes in bed, or the lack of noises, rather, just like her, they are just the same) he loves her for asking. He nods vehemently against her shoulder, against locks of her mussed, sweaty hair. 

"I'm okay, I'm okay." He's more than okay, god, so much more.

"Good."

"I won't..." he mutters – feeling, weirdly, too shy to form the words. "Not until you tell me to."

She's actually blushing at that. After everything they've done together tonight and now she blushes. They are exactly the wrong two people to be doing this, he reflects, they are just hopeless at it. He wants to laugh out loud. How the fuck did they manage to find each other? Skye is kissing him to hide her embarrasment, like this wasn't her idea in the first place. He doesn't mind, it's not like she needs an excuse to kiss him – even if she normally acts like she does. It's fine. They are working on that. Like, right now.

"You'd do that for me?" she asks; she's not teasing him, more like she's genuinely surprised. 

She is always surprised by the things he'd do for her. Maybe it's about time she gets used to it, though, because Coulson suspects their situation is irreversible, or maybe he just hopes it is. This time Skye's deeply-ingrained confidence problems don't inspire frustration in him, just tenderness.

"For you, for you," he repeats, panting, against her mouth.

And she was right, she was _so right_ , making him wait like this. He needed to be undone first.

His strokes become lazy while his breathing becomes more desperate. He uses his palm against Skye's hipbone as an anchor. Skye busies herself, kissing him open-mouthed and wet and dirty and slow for a while. Then she moves over him, nuzzling his neck.

" _Now_ ," she whispers into his ear, tone dripping with lust and intent, hand gripping his upper arm, the touch of her fingers sinking into him, into his whole body.

"Oh god," he lets out quietly, knowing it's her voice rather than this one last stroke of his hand around his cock what makes him come.

Oh god, he thinks, and that's the last semi-rational thought he's able to conjure up for a while.

When he regains command over his limbs, a thousand years afterwards, Skye has somehow managed to get rid of the ruined bed covers and has tucked both of them under the fresh-smelling sheets. She has also maneuvered him out of his pants. Coulson somehow doubts she has folded them and put them on the chair, though. That's just fine, some things are worth ruining a perfectly good suit.

He puts his arm over his face, hiding into the crook of his elbow. Skye grabs him, not to uncover him but to hold him in place. She leans to press one little kiss over the sensitive skin of the inside of his upper arm. Coulson shudders, still riling from release and sensory overload.

"Sorry," she says.

"It's okay," he tells her, happy his voice has gone back to sounding like him, maybe a bit too much. "Are we still on the clock?"

"Nope, you're off the hook."

He sees her bite her lower lip, her face flushed, obviously unsatisfied with something here. He's not slow to notice what. _Oh_. It sends a new wave of desire through his body, knowing he can still give her something. He just doesn't know how to go about it. One of the things about being under her complete control was that it made it so much easier to just ask.

What is he supposed to say now? _Please, Skye, let me make you come again, I know you want to._ He's really about to – but maybe she can tell just by looking at him because she is quicker, he doesn't have to say anything; she grabs his wrist and guides his hand between her legs. She comes almost as soon as he starts touching her.

And fine, he has yet to make her scream; she's still silent around her orgasm, and it still unnerves him, the way Skye herself hasn't given up, but he decides it's okay (though his optimism could just be post-coital chemical reactions), he decides they have time for that, and he'll keep working on it until he figures exactly what she needs, until he figures her out.

 

+

 

_They were in the elevator. The hotel was all right but the elevator was one of those big ones with mirror walls that made Coulson feel they were conducting some illicit affair. Which this was neither. It wasn't particularly a secret, either._

_Skye had stepped back from the doors, a frown on her face._

_"Do you think I've should have worn something else?" she asked while Coulson was looking at their room key, trying to find out the button to which floor he should press. She was looking down at her simple shirt and jeans. "This is a nice place."_

_Of course Skye's definition of "nice" was a lot broader than a normal person's._

_Coulson shrugged. "I'm wearing work clothes."_

_"Yeah but your so-called work clothes are..." she gestured. "Like that."_

_He smiled at her benevolently. There had been that time he had taken her to a very nice restaurant he knew in Philadelphia and Skye had a brief freakout about everybody wearing clothes more expensive that everything she owned in the world put together. She had gotten over it pretty quickly, though, with the help of a certain amount of wine, and the evening ended up being quite spectacular for both them._

_"Are you nervous?"_

_"I'm concentrating," she replied._

_"You don't have to try so hard," Coulson told her._

_She held out her hand ceremoniously. "Hello, my name is Skye. Have we met?"_

_"Got it."_

_The elevator stopped but no one came through the doors. What the hell, Skye muttered._

_When the doors shut again she closed the space between her and Coulson and twisted one hand around his tie._

_"You would tell me, if you didn't want to do this, right?" she asks. "I know it's a weird request."_

_"I would tell you. You know me, I'm too stubborn to do something just for the sake of it."_

_She nodded. Coulson was very good at following orders, that didn't mean he was ever particularly good at **liking** them. It was a fine distinction, one people tended to be unaware of. Not her, though. Skye was making an effort to give him a way out, in case he was having second thoughts. He didn't anticipate many problems with the evening – it would probably be something quick and simple and safe. But he was glad she made the effort. Though he wondered if she had been researching kink negotiation online. It was an amusing enough image._

_He was still wondering why she asked something like this of him, though. She had never showed any inclination for "planning" these things before. He was the one with the plans, she was the one impulsively taking his hand and leading him to her bedroom in the middle of the day. Which was pretty much the reason why their relationship wasn't a secret anymore._

_Skye pulls him closer: "I also know you are always going out of your way to make my life easier, so..."_

_He wanted to protest that wasn't true._

_"I don't think that's what–"_

_"And then there's the issue of your control... issues," she added._

_"Excuse me?"_

_She fixed him a defiant look. "We've been doing this for... quite some time now. Of course I know you have control issues."_

_The elevator stopped again on the next floor but again no one came in._

_"Slowest elevator ride ever. What is wrong with this thing? Imagine we get stuck inside. That's a totally different kind of fantasy," Skye commented. When the doors close again her voice lowered. "What I'm saying is... you can tell me, if you are not into this."_

_Her eyes were big and dark then._

_Coulson nodded._

_He clasped her shoulders and shoved her back against the wall of the elevator. He kissed her there, between floors thirteen and fourteen, deep and harsh. Now he really felt like they were conducting some illicit affair, but in a good way. In a really good way. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, gripping her hips viciously, and everything was teeth and fingernails for a moment until Coulson heard her moan._

_When he pulled away Skye's eyes were very wide._

_"Oh we're gonna have fun," she declared._

_Coulson adjusted his tie and run his palms along the length of his jacket, straightening the fabric out. He was considering Skye with a bold smile on his face._

_"Hope so."_

 

+

 

The hotel bedsheets smell like her now.

Skye is looking at him with that frown of concentration she had when the evening had just started. He doesn't know what she's doing running her fingers through his hair now or why she loves doing this so much, messing it up only to comb it into place again. He's glad they're here but he's gone back to feeling a bit too exposed, lying in bed like this, after what has just happened – because now she knows too much about him, and that has always been the case, but now she knows things about him Coulson is certain he hadn't allowed himself to know.

"What?" he asks, sensing she's thinking about something.

She's examining the a reddened spot of skin on his neck, bruised by her tongue and teeth. She prodes at it but it doesn't hurt.

"It was all a bit silly," she says. "I mean, if you think about it we didn't do much, not really. Pretty vanilla."

Coulson narrows his eyes at her use of the expression. He takes away her hand, threading her fingers with his for a moment.

"We might not have done much, as you say," he tells her. "But it was..."

"Intense?" she offers.

"Yes."

"Totally."

She kisses the side of his mouth. It's too brief and soft.

"I needed this," she admits. That's good, at least now Coulson knows she realizes why she was doing this now. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he says, presenting her with his smuggest smile because he knows she loves it.

She quirks one eyebrow. Her hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder, sliding along his chest. She looks happy and serious at the same time.

"You are very good at that," she tells him, the 100% honest voice that sometimes is not easy to pry out of her. "Giving me what I need."

She has one leg wrapped around his waist, sighing happily when Coulson runs his knuckle and the back of his hand down her thigh. She pins his wrist against the pillow with one hand, leaning to lick a strip on his neck, tongue flat and hot. The serious moment has passed, he's sure of it, and now he is following her example, tangling one hand in her hair and pressing his mouth againt the hollow of her neck – the little _oh_ sound she makes is very familiar. Her hips are angling against him, wonderfully selfish, and he knows what's coming. Coulson is very grateful for his strict training and his excellent shape because otherwise there's no way he could ever hope to keep up. But he does and as it turns out they are curiously well-matched.

The next moment she pulls back a bit, moving towards the edge of the bed, wanting to take a good look at him. He doesn't even have to imagine the expression on his own face this time – it's the same stupid one Skye has on right now.

"So. We still have the room all night," she reminds him. "What do _you_ want to do?"

It's simple, he thinks. He wants to do whatever she wants. But he can't tell her. Wants to but can't. Tonight has been a step of some kind for them, he suspects, a step forward, he hopes, but he's not there yet. Skye was wrong – he is the one who feels like he is always behind, having to catch up to her. She doesn't wait for him but he wouldn't want her to wait. He'll just have to learn how to go faster. He can do that. Like, right now.

He can't tell her everything he wants to, so for tonight he settles for a smaller version of the truth:

"Can I kiss you?" he asks.

Skye grins and slides over to his side of the bed, her mouth warm and careful against his pleading mouth.

She's very good at that, Coulson thinks. Giving him what he needs.


End file.
